The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, sunlight's casting long shadows across the weathered, wooden planks of an old dock, stretching out into a tranquil lake. The air's pretty still, with a hint of fish and mildew, and the sound of lapping water against the dock is soothing. Like, a small group of otters is busy reassembling a vintage seaplane from scattered parts, already somehow refueled and ready to take off, with a bunch of perfectly arranged, vintage suitcases already loaded into the cargo hold. The sky above is a clear, pale blue, with the sun slowly beginning its descent towards the horizon.